And maybe it hurt
by Pozagee
Summary: After the Jack the Ripper incident, Grell's punishment is causing him to wear down. TBC? If so, future William/Grell.
1. Chapter 1

Under usual circumstances, Grell would have complained about this punishment—but the fact was: He was just to exhausted to do so.

It had been three weeks since what most people had dubbed the "Jack the Ripper incident" (some even made further mockery of the situation, by calling it the "Jack the Reaper incident" as well). Two of said weeks, however, he had spent in "holding", which was basically a fancy word for "jail cell". He had only been allowed the "necessities" in those weeks, and therefore arrived at his trial looking rather...horrible (at least in his mind). Most of the members of the London Division had been there, which furthered his embarrassment (none of the other Reapers tried to hide their laughs at the situation, for most were not very fond of the red Reaper).

William, of course, did not laugh. But...neither did he give Grell a reassuring thumbs up as Ronald had. And maybe that hurt. Just a little.

But Grell smiled nonetheless, prancing about as much as the heavy shackles on his arms allowed. He batted his eyelashes, and made flirtatious comments at anyone he deemed worthy.

The trial had been mercifully quick, and Grell needn't make a sound. They knew he was guilty.

But they also knew that the London Division was short-handed, so they couldn't dole out too harsh a punishment on one of their most successful Reapers.

His punishment hadn't sounded bad at the time; his workload was to be doubled, and his paperwork had to be turned in on time, lest he get even more rights taken away. He wasn't to interact with any demons (unless one interfered with his work). He wasn't allowed time off, either. All of that, he believed he could deal with.

And then the High Councilman in charge of his hearing read the last line. That broke Grell.

His Scythe—the one he had had since he joined the Reapers, the one he had worked so hard modifying—had been destroyed. They had destroyed it. And he was to be given a standard-issue, short Death Scythe; one typical for those first entering the Academy.

He had collapsed then, and started crying. He looked up at Ronald and William and everyone, but they were just sighing and shaking their heads. All of them. They believed it was just another one of his fits of melodrama, not that this really cut him deep.

And maybe that hurt.

He was then escorted out, and back to his rooms; he was given a strict schedule, one he was to follow, "or else".

So he dressed as he normally did, and arrived at the office at 4:00 am. Sharp.

The disgrace of a Scythe was laid in his hands, and he couldn't help but stare at it in disgust.

Then a list with at least 20 souls on it was handed to Grell. And thus commenced the most exhausting day of Grell's afterlife.

Or maybe the most exhausting day had been the day after that, when a soul had taken nearly three hours to round up.

Or maybe the day after that, when he had had a run in with Sebastian, and had nearly fallen off a roof.

Or maybe the day after that, when he arrived home at 2:30 am, after a ridiculous pile of paperwork was completed, and he had to get up at 4:00 again.

Or maybe it was the day he had had to go and investigate how a person was to die, and he ended up getting beat up by some sort of gang in the process.

Or maybe it was today, as it had been so far. Grell knew he must look horrible, for the lack of sleep, combined with the bruises from the day before. His hair was starting to become greasy, and a total mess. He hated to do it...but he knew he would have to cut his hair, unless he wanted it to become totally disgusting.

The fact was, Grell simply hadn't had TIME to shower. He didn't have time for anything. He had even done away with a half-hour of his morning routine, in the hopes of gaining just a little more sleep.

His stomach grumbled, and Grell placed a hand upon it. He hadn't even had time to eat this morning, as he had woken up late. And William would report him immediately, should he arrive to work even a minute late—no matter the reason.

Grell knew William didn't care.

And maybe that hurt. A lot.

**_A/N Poor Grell...I always torture my favorite characters. *sighs*_**

**_Should I continue?_**

**_Anyway, please review! _**


	2. Chapter 2

It was around midnight when Grell finally made it back to Headquarters. Granted, it had certainly not been the latest he had been out that week...but he was still completely exhausted. No one was there, he believed, until he noticed a line of light beneath William's door.

Grell plastered on a smile, and flung open the door. "Will! Darling!"

William continued working on the papers before him, not even glancing up. Grell pouted slightly, before William spoke. "Sutcliff. Remove yourself from my office."

Grell slunk forward, his fingers lightly dancing across the stacks of papers. "But why, Will? It is ever so late, and the office is empty...Oh! What fun we could have!" Grell hugged himself, swaying, just the thought making him lightheaded.

Or maybe that was due to the lack of food, or energy, or-

No. It was due to his love for William. He was sure of that.

Suddenly, he yelped, falling backwards. William was standing, holding his scythe. The dim light danced off William's glasses in a way that could be considered-both-handsome and terrifying.

The elder of the two was obviously tired, and not in the mood for Grell's typical antics.

Grell usually threw away what other people were in the mood for-after all, neither Sebastian nor William were ever in the mood for flirting or any of that. But after the Jack the Ripper trials...

William had been acting even more hateful towards Grell. It was almost as if he felt betrayed...After all, he was Grell's superior, and (though he would never admit it) semi-kinda-not really-but maybe-friend. For Grell to have gone behind his back and break so many important Reaper laws was a horrible betrayal -at least in William's eyes.

William had just stared at him coldly at the trial-there had been no emotion, fake or otherwise. Grell had figured it was just for show-William, after all, had to keep up his tough-guy facade.

But then after the fact, William still didn't look his way, despite how loud Grell had shouted for him.

And Grell figured that this was William's own personal punishment for him-that it would dampen Grell's spirit, or something like that.

But it just kept going and going all week long. William refused to say a word to Grell, and never once looked at him. That stung a bit.

But tonight William had caved, and had talked AND looked at him. But those words had held pure hatred. And those eyes had looked so disgusted...

"W...Will..." Grell paused. When William didn't immediately snap at him, he continued. "I um...haven't seen much of you this past week..."

"Perhaps I arranged that happenstance."

Grell nearly flinched. "I...well, you see, I've missed you-"

William looked down at a small file, before picking it up. "I have another assignment for you."

Grell stared at the file. He didn't feel angry, or sad, or frustrated, really. Just tired. Tired and numb.

"The soul is to be collected sometime within the next two hours, preferably as close to the Death Time as possible," William continued, as he set he started organizing a few of the stacks of files and papers on his desk, more neatly. He didn't even look up at Grell as he pushed the file across the desk.

Grell reached out a trembling hand to the file, picking it up. When he turned to the door, William continued his task, of straightening up, seemingly unfazed.

"Do you hear me?" Grell questioned quietly-almost timidly. "Do you see me?"

William didn't answer. Instead, he said-cold as ever-"You should get going, if you are to make it to the other side of London in time."

Grell felt so very sick in that moment. He could care less for the state of his health, or well-being, or even his looks (which was out of character for him, within itself). He wanted William to be there for him, to care for him (at least as a friend-he really needed a friend right now), or to at least display some emotion. Grell felt himself falling apart, and he wanted William to be his paste, and hold him together. He didn't care if William liked him as a boyfriend, or a friend, or even as an acquaintance. The fact was that Grell needed William-needed that one constant in his life.

Grell turned from the door, letting the file drop to the floor. Before William could reprimand him for his clumsiness, Grell threw his arms around Will, holding him as tight as possible (almost as though Grell was trying to make them meld together-make the become one).

"William..." he whispered. "Please...please, I'm sorry for betraying your trust-"

"-unhand me-"

"-but you've got to understand Will! I wasn't in my right mind-"

"-_Enough."_

William pushed Grell away from him, causing the later to nearly topple over. William was glaring at Grell with such ferocity, that for the first time, Grell wondered if William truly had a soul.

"Enough is enough, Sutcliff. Now remove yourself from my office, Reap the soul assigned to you, and don't come in here again, or I will allow the Elder Reapers to go along with the punishment initially given to you."

Grell had no idea what the Elders' original plans hd been...but the way William said that...it was almost as though William had been the one to veto their decision.

Grell looked up at William from his spot on the floor. The man's eyes-if Grell was not mistaken-did have some emotion in them. Something...but then he turned away.

"I really am sorry-"

"Sorry isn't good enough!" William nearly shouted, as he whirled around to face Grell. His glasses had slid down his nose, and a few hairs had escaped from his slicked-back hairdo. But his eyes...they showed such anger and pain, mixed together perfectly to create a look that signaled that he had been betrayed by someone close to him.

The two Reapers stared at each other for nearly a whole minute, as though they were both trying to communicate the words they could not speak through their eyes. But then William turned away, adjusting his glasses and pushing the hairs into place.

"You should get going."

Grell didn't say a word, as he picked up the file, and left.

**_A/N Sorry for the long-ish wait ((it was actually pretty short, for me)). I have like...5 multi-chaps going, and I'm trying to update them once a week...Yeah..._**

**_Well anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks to all the reviews, favorites, and follows! *Poz hug*_**

**_Please review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

Grell flew across the rooftops at top speed, despite his exhaustion. At the rate the night was going, he wouldn't be able to return to his home that night to rest, but that was OK. He was extremely tired, but he was also immortal; he could go at least a little longer without proper rest. He really could.

Grell had only glanced at the address of the person he was to collect the soul of; nothing more. After already collecting so many souls that day, he could truly care less about who he was to Reap.

He paused on the edge of a steep rooftop, leaning against the metallic chimneys that rested on it, his breaths coming out shaky. He rolled his shoulders back, lifting the collar of his red jacket so it rested on his shoulders; it was only fall, and already he would have to start wearing heavy wool soon (he found it absolutely dreadful; he only had two wool coats, and both were dull grey colored).

He flipped up the collar, fastening the ornate buttons and tying the strap around his waist. After one last heavy sigh, he continued his journey.

When he finally reached his destination, he pulled his Scythe from the leather holder on his belt. One advantage of having the small Scythe was that it wasn't as heavy and cumbersome as his chainsaw. But it also felt alien to him, and it wasn't as easy to Reap with. His chainsaw always seemed to speak to him (in a weird kind of way), whereas this little instrument whispered as lightly as a midsummer breeze.

He jumped down from the roof, glancing around at his surroundings.

He truly hated London; it's streets always seemed to twist and turn into themselves, like a never-ending labyrinth. That would have been manageable, if the buildings didn't lean slightly towards the streets. Sometimes he was afraid the buildings would suddenly topple inwards, trapping him in this maze forever.

He wondered-if that happenstance were to occur-if he would be missed.

This particular section of London disgusted him for more than that reason alone. This was where the lowest of the low lived, where they crawled about on their bellies in the filth of the streets, their eyes betraying the madness that lurked below their stoic facades. Here was where disease ran rampant, where all those immigrants called home, where no one made an honest living.

This was the Whitechapel district.

Grell grimaced as he remembered the last time he was here. He hated what he had done, he truly did. But it also made him feel...well not better exactly. Bittersweet, perhaps. Actually, he had no idea how he felt about the murders, the fight between him and the demon, what he did to Madam Red...He sort of felt numb about the whole thing.

Sometimes he wished he was alive.

He never told anyone this wish; how could he? They would think he was mad, or a danger to the Reaper system (more so than he already was). They'd think he was going rogue. Having thoughts about living. Wanting to live. To feel.

A sudden breeze jerked Grell back into himself, as he shivered. Scowling slightly he walked into an alleyway, checking the rusting numbers for the ones that matched that on the paper.

When he found the door he was looking for, a sense of foreboding suddenly overwhelmed him. He hesitated only a moment, before sneaking in through the unlocked door.

The house (if the small box-like room could be considered as such) was as dirty and cold as the street. There was very little furniture, and the little amount that there was was shabby (to phrase it nicely). But the thing that was the worst was the smell. That smell! It was the most horrifying stench he had ever smelled; a dreadful combination of stale whiskey, sex, and under washed bodies (granted, most of the lower sections of London had smelled as such, the strength of the smell in that room was something entirely different).

And then he saw who he was to Reap.

At first he wasn't sure what the dark shape in the corner was. Then it occurred to him. It hit him like William had back in his office: Painful in a way that was more mental than physical.

It was a child.

Without even realizing it, he had moved to stand above the little boy-for now, he could see it was a little boy.

The child was asleep, though it was obvious he was ill, for his face was flushed, and there was a bit of foam dripping from his mouth. The boy looked to be about nine or ten, but his severe features and prominent nose made him appear much older.

Grell kneeled down beside the mat the boy was on, ignoring the stains that his pants and coat were sure to acquire.

As Grell stared into the child's face, he felt a surge of anger similar to what he felt when Madam Red had found him. These...humans...these despicable beings...they who could have children...how he despised them. How could they bring life into the world, nurse said life from infancy, and still leave that life to fade into oblivion?! How could they have all that he wanted and not give a damn about it?! **_How could they?!_**

He suddenly looked down at the greasy black hair and hooked nose, feeling only sorrow. "How could they?"

Only Madam Red understood. Only Madam Red knew what it was like to feel as he felt, and he killed her.

He hated himself. Why did he have to be how he was? Why couldn't he just be a normal Reaper (or a normal man, for that matter), wanting normal things? Why did he have to be the Reaper in Red? Why couldn't he just be what William wanted: Normal?

But...then again...William didn't want him, did he?

Nobody did. William didn't, the Undertaker didn't, Sebastian didn't...sometimes he just wanted them to like him: period. Any of them. He wanted something. Someone. Anyone.

In that way, he was just like the little boy: Unwanted.

In one swift movement, he brought down the Scythe down, straight threw the boy's heart. He-at least-wouldn't have to feel anymore pain.

**_A/N Hey all! I'm actually pleasantly surprised by the amount of traffic this fic is getting! So thank you to all my followers, favoriters, and reviewers! You guys really help on bad days!_**

**_I hope you liked this chapter! Any suggestions, or requests for things to happen, etc.?_**

**_Please review!_**


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